


Familiar

by Ericine



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Banter, Betazoid, Chivalry, F/M, Gossip, Hurt/Comfort, Old Friends, Post-Divorce, Smut, and Afsaneh's annoyance with it, dating is weird, growing up is also weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: Chris is a good friend, concerned only with what she needs. And then he gives it to her.





	Familiar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [R_S_B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S_B/gifts).



> I used a lot of R_S_B's own Paris family headcanons for this fic, in that Commodore Paris' name is Afsaneh and that she married a man, Gaspard Paris. They have two children, Afrand and Setareh. Afsaneh's a few months out of the divorce, and her marriage has been deteriorating for some time.
> 
> Everyone else's romantic histories with each other in here can be deduced, hahaha.
> 
> Thanks so much to [Oparu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu) for letting me chatter to her about this plot throughout the writing of it.

It doesn’t surprise Chris that Afsaneh shows up to the agreed-upon restaurant fashionably late - she was supposed to be at a diplomatic function today, and those always run over. He’s not concerned. His ship’s first officer is here for a court martial that involves a particularly interesting breach of First Contact protocol. It’ll take at least a week to sort the whole thing out, perhaps longer if they really want to get into the nuts and bolts of it for future disputes. His ship, the  _ Aldrin _ , is in for repairs, and besides his days, which are filled with staggering amounts of catch-up paperwork, he and the crew know that they’re on nearly-official shore leave for the time being.

What surprises him is what Afsaneh Paris is  _ wearing _ \- something blue and fitted and translucently lacy and definitely  _ not _ Starfleet regulation formal diplomatic attire.

He’s not looking for her wearing something like  _ that _ . That’s why he almost misses her sweeping across the room, her hair cascading down one shoulder. They see each other from time to time, of course, but that was always at work, in uniform. He’s known her for longer than two decades at this point, since first year at the Academy. They’ve suffered through many a boring seminar together. He was at her wedding, and he intends to be there for her now, a little less than a year out from her divorce. That’s a better way to spend shore leave anyway.

She’s not what he’s expecting, but he still manages to get to his feet in time before she reaches the table. She smirks when he meets her eyes, and reassurance washes over him, the kind that always occurs when he sees an old friend.

“Get your jaw off the floor, flyboy. I was attending a celebration involving the Third and Fifth Houses of Betazed. Naturally, I was running too late to change.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You have to be naked for those.” He’d been to a couple of Betazoid events once, which is how he knows that Starfleet personnel present put their uniforms back on after, though, to be fair, under those circumstances, it was really only Federation rules that required them to be in dress uniform.

The smallest of smiles flutters across her face. “For weddings, yes, but I never said wedding. I said celebration.”

He thinks. She lets him. She’s never been one to hand anything over easily. “And you’re friends with the matriarch of the Fifth House.”

She crosses her arms cheerfully, teacher-like, like they weren’t in almost all the same classes at the Academy, like her rank is enough to put a decade between them instead of a sprinkling of months. “Why would you say that?”

“Everyone who keeps up with Betazoid nobility knows it was the Third House that’s just had a child. I’m guessing the Fifth House has distant relatives there, and one of them--” He puts on a terrible impression of the Fifth House’s matriarch. “-- _ absolutely insisted _ you wear this great heirloom from her family.”

Her grin widens; he’s right. “Well, she’s miffed of course. It’s the fourth such celebration the Third House has had in the past five years. It’s not like the Fifth House has been so... _ fertile _ lately.”

“But they consider you family. That’s truly something.” He eyes the dress again. It’s textbook Fifth House, now that he looks at it - plunging neckline, plunging back, all in one of the signature house colors. “It suits you.”

That’s apparently enough banter for her, because she holds out her arms. “Commander Pike.”

Chris raises an eyebrow and leans in for the hug. “Captain Paris,” he says, with a chuckle. “You know it’s Lieutenant Commander, right? Must be those laurels of yours, making us all of formal of a sudden.”

“Must be that quirky old-fashioned Earth chivalric tendency of yours that makes you hold back from telling me that my tits look fantastic in this dress, even though you haven’t really stopped staring at my chest since you realized that it was me and not one of the station bartenders walking toward you, hm?”

Chris can feel eyes on them - a nearby table of ensigns increasingly alarmed at what they perceive to be a dangerous conversation between a cocky Starfleet officer and the silk-over-steel (or lace-over-steel, in this case) head of this space station. It almost makes him laugh out loud.

He can tell it’s amusing Afsaneh too. “My apologies,” he says, with a little mock bow. She laughs. She sounds free. That’s good. “You haven’t changed.”

“I still don’t take bullshit,” she affirms, and she reaches out for his hand. He takes it warmly. “And you’re still far too much of a nobleman for my taste.”

They share a smile and sit down, and he manages to hold back the laugh that Afsaneh does not at the audible sigh of relief from the table nearby.

She composes herself and waves for a server. “You’ll forgive me if I decide for the both of us that we’re having Persian? I’m missing it today.” Chris nods his agreement, and the server, instead of coming over, just nods and turns away to put the order in. She angles her head ever-so-slightly toward the table of ensigns. “They came over here about three weeks ago. I’m still a caricature to them. They’ll learn soon enough.” She sounds almost fond. It’s nice on her.

“The last time we chatted, you decided you’d move here for the kids. It sounds like you like it though.”

Afsaneh smiles, and they shift around a little as the tea is placed in front of them. “I have found--” She gestures her arms around in a slight show of grandeur. “--my calling.”

“Really?”

“No.”

She sips her tea, and he just looks on.

“I don’t know. It’s as good a position as any. There’s nothing else I want more. The kids are close by. The crew’s here. They leave better than they come in. I get to watch them grow. There are worse things.”

“And that growth is because of you.”

“Hardly, but I figure I have to be doing something right.” She frowns down at her tea then, and he wants to ask her something, but that’s when their food arrives.

He’s hungrier than he realized. They eat in comfortable silence, and it’s not until they’re nearing the end of their meal when she looks up at him over her teacup. “You’re going to be promoted any day now, you know.”

“In the middle of my ship’s court martial?”

Afsaneh rolls her eyes. “This ia a necessary case for redefining First Contact protocol, and you know it. But yes, after, almost certainly.”

“I’ll keep my expectations low--”

“--and my standards high,” they finish together. It’s something Gabe used to say that got drilled into their heads over time.

Afsaneh looks back down at her food, and Chris tries to remember the last time he saw her with her hair down. She’d worn it up at her wedding, he remembers, because she’d been married in full uniform (not the modified version of the uniform that Pippa had used).

“How are you, Afsaneh?” he asks, trying to summarize all of his concern into that one question. She doesn’t like talking about feelings. That doesn’t mean she won’t do it, but she also likes to do it as efficiently as possible.

“I’m fine,” she answers evenly, then looks down at their finished plates. “Dessert?”

He definitely has more room. “What did you have in mind?”

“ _ Bastani _ in my quarters,” she says, with another tiny head angle toward the table of ensigns, which, now that he thinks of it, has gotten really quiet while they’ve been sitting here. Also, their food has been finished for at least the past half hour. “I made some myself last week. I like it, but I need to test it on someone.”

She goes to stand, and he hurries to stand with her. “Let’s go.”

* * *

It’s not official, Chris would put his money on Afsaneh Paris being one of the Federation’s best liaisons with Betazed. She has no telepathic ability in her family, not even a little, but she’s always just kind of  _ taken _ to the culture, the way that Philippa took to Vulcan. But where Philippa got along with Vulcans because she and Vulcans were nothing alike, he suspects that Afsaneh and the Betazoids get along because they share a wavelength, so to speak. At least from his (relatively limited, compared to several of his Starfleet peers) knowledge about the Betazoid nobility.

There are the jewel tones that cloak the room. Afsaneh took her quarters’ decoration allowance to the maximum. There are drapes on the windows, plants all around the room, and the occasional children’s toy on the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” she tells him easily, walking into the kitchen, dress and all, and pulling dishes out of her cupboards. “I like a tight ship and a comfortable place, but leaving them out makes it feel a little less like they’re not here.”

He takes a seat at her table, and she waves him toward the couch. “I can’t remember the last time we ate at that table. The couch is really comfortable, anyway.”

She walks back over with both ice cream bowls and hands him one, spoon and all. She sits on the floor and uses the couch cushion as a makeshift table, folding her legs under him in the dress like it’s not a gift of goodwill from another planet’s nobility.

He takes a bite of the saffron-rosewater-pistachio ice cream and lets the sweet, heavy, nutty combination ground him. “You guys always eat like that, huh?”

Afsaneh looks around like she’s just realized what she’s doing. “Oh! Um...yes. I didn’t realize.”

Chris shrugs and joins her on the floor, perching his own bowl on top of the couch.

Afsaneh smiles - her eyes sparkle from this close. Their knees are touching. “The standard table wasn’t quite the right height for the kids when we moved, and I had this whole other order put in when they decided that eating by the couch worked just as well.”

“Innovative. Smart like their mom then.”

Afsaneh rolls her eyes. “Their dad’s smart too.”

“And you both are…”

“Fine. And sad. We love the kids more than anything, but it’s better for them to do their schooling on Earth. We both agreed on that.”

“How often do you see them?”

“One weekend every two weeks? We’re trying to work out how they’d be able to do their classes via video from here.” He doesn’t say anything, because it sounds like she’s going to say more, and then she sighs and puts the ice cream bowl behind her, on the coffee table. He follows suit, and then she turns around so her back is against the base of the couch and sighs.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he suggests. “I’m guessing you already told Kat.”

“I’d have to be Kat’s patient for her to keep completely quiet, and I wouldn’t do that to her. But everything you tell her goes through--”

“Pippa.”

“And Gabe.”

“And me?”

Afsaneh nods. “It’s just part of being Starfleet. Meanwhile, you may be the only person in Starfleet I’ve ever known to keep a secret not under direct orders.”

“I’ve never liked gossip.”

“Oh, come on. You know that has nothing to do with whether or not you gossip. And yet, you don’t,” she laughs, and when she shifts her knees up toward her chest, she brushes his thigh with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. The kids are - as fine as they’re going to be. We’re in therapy. The station’s running fine. I took a station instead of a ship to make things work, and it’s one of those scenarios where you do everything right, and it’s still wrong.”

Chris nods slowly. “So, if I tell you that you shouldn’t blame yourself, how much does that help?”

“Don’t blame yourself. If anyone could have made it work, it would have been you,” says Afsaneh. “Gabe told me that.”

It’s Chris’ humble opinion that Gabe’s not the most helpful person in these kinds of situations.

Afsaneh puts a hand on his arm. “I know what you’re thinking. It was helpful, coming from him, okay? But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it a few times a day - how it was a failure of sorts. And maybe one that was avoidable.”

Chris covers her hand with his own, and she pulls back.

“Sorry.” Chris is about to shake his head to tell her not to worry about it, when she reaches back for his hand with both of hers. “You know Afrand has trouble sleeping sometimes? Setareh always sleeps so soundly, but he’s more restless. Gaspard and I would wake up in the middle of the night and find him curled up somewhere in the bed with us. He would still do it, you know, when Gaspard and I tried out the separation for a while. He’d be with me, and I’d wake up, and he’d be there. It’s just empty here without them, you know? It’s an adjustment.”

“Space can be lonely,” Chris quotes. And then slowly, slowly enough to where she has plenty of time to tell him no if she doesn’t want it, he places his free hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flutter shut for just a moment. “Plenty of ways in the universe to be lonely.”

Her shoulder is warm, soft fabric that gives way to the dropped necklines on her chest and back. He squeezes her shoulder, careful to keep his hand over the fabric, and her eyes fall shut again, hands loosening around his. He slides that hand over hers. “Is that why you keep touching me?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“What?”

“Are you seeing anyone? I feel like you can normally find out about these things by listening to the grapevine, but you’re you, and so I have to ask--”

It’s a little comforting, honestly, that she thinks he has time to see someone and work his job at the pace that he deems appropriate. But then again, Afsaneh been able to do it for years. Chris laughs. “Not even a little.”

“So you wouldn’t hold it against me if I took you to bed?”

* * *

She’d joked with him at her wedding that the two of them seldom met under circumstances that didn’t involve one of their lives falling apart.

She’d been happy then, obviously, and then she’d stared him down until he told her that his father had just passed.

She hugged him - she was sorry that their friendship seemed to be such an omen, but she was happy to see him all the same. The grief sweeping at his insides a little too hard for him to think up a response, he’d just nodded and hugged her back until Kat had thrown herself at their hug and things turned into a group hug.

They’d met at the Academy when she was reeling from a breakup as well, and once she’d taken him out of the conceited early command track category, they’d developed a friendship based mostly on him listening to her rant about what had happened with her and her ex. She needed to do something with her hands, so they’d use the student kitchen, and she’d make all the comfort food from her childhood. He’d throw in an appetizer or a side dish every once in a while.

Sometimes, they’d just be studying, spouting facts to each other as they ducked, swerved, and spun out of each other’s way. He remembers it occurring to him that she’d be good at dancing, and he remembers the quiet look of panic on her face when she realized that she’d been spending the past three days staring at his mouth.

She’d tried to apologize then - they were  _ friends _ , dammit, good friends. She barely knew Gabe back then, hardly knew Pippa as more than competition in their classes, and she didn’t want to mess up a good thing with one of her few close friends.

She’d had no idea how good of a thing it was; the way he cared for her. It wasn’t love, the way that they’d all liked to talk about it back then. It was beyond petty, territorial romance.

It’s been almost twenty years since she’s come to him for comfort. The answer’s the same.

He reaches for her, trails his thumb along her jaw. “You know I never would.”

* * *

Afsaneh comes up on her knees, and it’s like a luminous ocean wave rising over him. She kisses him, her hands on his face as he grips the thin, silky fabric over her hips. She pulls away, unzips his uniform jacket, and sets it aside. When she turns back to him, he makes a little circle with his fingers. They shift; he turns and sits with his back to the couch base, and she sits between his legs, with her back to him, and kicks the coffee table away.

“It really will be your undoing,” she tells him, leaning her head to the side so he can trail his lips down her neck, his fingertips down the front of her dress. “This gentleman thing of yours you’ve got going on.”

She grinds her hips back against him then, and he stills her hips with his hands, even as his half-hard cock jumps. “It’s undoing to want to make this nice for you?”

He slides a hand down to her inner thigh, and she spreads her legs, the fabric of her dress dipping between them like a shimmery cerulean valley, and she rolls her head back onto his shoulder. “I thought I was going to have to spell out what I wanted.”

He slides a hand up her thigh, fingers dancing quickly between her legs, then sliding back down, but its the other hand cupping her breast through the dress that makes her sigh. “You’re the one who has stuff going on. You’re the one who gets to lead.”

She doesn’t answer, just pulls his other hand up to her other breast and grinds against him again.

“Give me a second,” he murmurs into her ear, and pulls the dress down her shoulders. It’s one of the ones with the bra that sticks to the dress, and he brings his hands back to her chest, circling her nipples with his thumbs.

She doesn’t moan, just exhales and relaxes in his arms. He can feel the ends her hair tickling his arm. Her eyelashes are long from up here, her lips even darker when her mouth opens in response to his touch.

“I’m leading, right?” she says. She leans up to kiss him. Their tongues slide against each other this time, and her teeth graze his lower lip when he nods in agreement. “I’m too old for the floor. Come to bed.”

* * *

It’s a simple idea, really. Get off the floor. Walk to the bedroom. But they decide somewhere between those locations that Afsaneh needs to lose her dress and that Chris needs to lose his pants, which turns into both of them dissolving into laughter when he trips over one of the many toys on the floor.

She reaches for him, and that’s how they end up with her pushing him against the wall, both of them only in their underwear now.

“You’re distracted,” she says, something characteristically wicked in her eyes as she kisses him, hard.

He brings his hands back to her breasts - they’re beautiful, of course, swollen under his touch, but the most beautiful thing about them has always been the way that touching them makes her feel. She leans her weight into him, moaning even as she slides her hand over his shorts. “You said so yourself, right? I’ve been distracted since you showed up in that dress.”

“The dress wasn’t part of my plan.”

“So there was a plan.”

Afsaneh shrugs. “More potential than a plan. A good idea.”

“I’m not going to deny that it’s a very good idea.” He’s gentle when he turns her back against the wall, gentle when he kisses her mouth, down to her breasts; when he kneels in front of her and presses his mouth to the wet spot on her underwear (blue, nearly the same shade as the dress).

She moans, arches her back against the wall, and a thought - a stupid thought - flits across his mind - how anyone could leave someone this confident, dynamic, and capable, especially someone in love with her.

He will never understand. As far as he’s concerned, Starfleet comes first. His love for space has never been something he questioned (and Gaspard hated space), and everyone he’s ever been with has, if not had the same goals as him, understood his situation deeply enough to where such deep devotion was part of them too.

Afsaneh has a family that comes first, but she understands him, and she gets what this is too.

He slides her underwear aside, tastes her ( _ so wet _ , and his cock strains, but there’s time for that later), and she laughs.

“You’re not going to bother to take them off?”

He presses his mouth closer, drinks her in, sucks on her swollen clit. “I’d probably trip over those too.”

She doesn’t argue, so he licks and sucks at her, her hand wound tight in his hair, until she exclaims in surprise and comes on his tongue, shuddering in his mouth.

When she stills, he rises, lets her kiss herself off his mouth.

“Should I take back what I said?” she says, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck. He lets her lean on him. It’s comfortable. “Have you learned to occasionally do something crude?”

“I’m going to carry you into the bedroom now.”

“Wow. Seriously?”

“When’s the last time someone did that for you?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Is that okay?”

“If you trip, we’re both going down.”

“So...yes, that’s okay?”

She wraps her arms around his neck, jumps a little up so he can scoop her into his arms. “Hopeless.”

(She kisses him anyway.)

* * *

He tries to places her on the bed, but she drags him down with her. He takes a knee to the chest, but then she drags his underwear down, takes him into her hand, and he forgets all about that.

“How long’s it been?” she asks, pushing him down, straddling him. She’s still wet from earlier, and she slides over his cock, teasing, not taking him in yet.

“Since I’ve been fucked or since you fucked me?”

She kisses him. “Still trying to be crude, I see. You know, it’s gonna take a lot more than that to counteract  _ actually carrying me to bed _ .”

“How long’s it been for you?”

“Nearly two years” she sighs, dropping her lips to his neck, his chest. “We stopped, you know, when the fighting got really bad. And you?”

He tugs up on her hips a little so he can angle his mouth toward her breasts. He licks, underside to nipple, then swirls his tongue as he tries to remember. “Months...a year? Has it really been that long?”

“Workaholic.”

“The wait’s been worth it.” She slides over him again, and they groan when his cock twitches between them. He’s hard enough that it hurts. “Definitely worth it. How do you want this?”

“Just like this.” She sinks down on him then, and he tries not to grip her too tight when he groans and falls back a little against the pillows, but she’s kissing him again, biting his lower lip. “Hard.”

He can’t thrust as well from this angle, but she sets a relentless pace. (He’d have expected nothing less.) He keeps his mind on control, on her face as he rolls her nipples around in his hands, manages to get his mouth on the hollow of her throat.

She tilts her head back, hair floating back and forth as they move together, mouth open as she reacts to him inside her.

It’s pretty fucking hot.

“Let me fuck you,” he finds himself panting, straining against the bed to meet her pace. “Let me fuck you, please.”

She smirks down at him, but her eyes are full of laughter even as her mouth is open, gasping. “ _Please_? How is that supposed to help me?”

He drags himself up onto his elbows, jerks his hips forward in a way that makes her yelp. “You like being fucked. And you’re a little more flexible than I am, if I remember correctly.”

A beat--then she’s dropping to the side, pulling him over her as she rolls him on top. He slides out, and she hisses in frustration until he pushes her thighs back and reenters her.

She  _ is _ more flexible - she locks her ankles somewhere behind his shoulders. “Well, don’t hold back on my account.”

He’d planned to touch her from up here, but her legs are in the way. That’s fine, because she loves this, even if she can’t always come from it. He sets a pace just as hard as before, slamming his hips into hers, thrusting in deeper--

“ _ Fuck, Chris _ ,” Afsaneh hisses, clutching him closer to her. Her fingernails are digging into his shoulders, but he only registers that distantly.

He can’t see her now, but he knows how she looks - the way her face gets a little wild with abandon, the way everything looks a little more natural when she’s disheveled. “You feel so good,” he tells her honestly. She’ll hear that. Her mouth is pretty close to his ear.

She kisses what she can - that’s the side of his face, somewhere near his ear. “Of course I do. Now, are you going to come, or do you need an explicit invitation to do that as well?”

It’s not because she tells him to. It’s not (he thinks). But he does, groaning, shaking, sliding over her body.

She doesn’t tell him to come out of her, but he does as soon as he can feel his limbs again. It’s only polite.

She tries to get her hair back into place, fails, and yanks the tie out of it instead before she rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling, hair spreading prettily around her on the pillow. “Stay.”

She’s never asked him to do that before. Ever.

“Don’t be like that. It’s nothing, just me wanting to not sleep alone. It sounds like you have slept alone for quite some time now, anyway.” She closes her eyes, looks tired. “Anyway, it’s just an offer. You can go. I won’t hold it against you.”

He rolls over, scoops her up, holds her to him. He can't remember the last time he held something, someone, so soft and small and warm. “No one’s doing anything alone. Let’s do this one thing together, okay?”

* * *

Afsaneh watches Kat’s eyes rise up to the top of the screen - viewing Chris in the background, tidying the place up, naturally.

“Oh. My god. How long has it been?”

Afsaneh rises her eyes to the ceiling, then responds. “Couple weeks? Some data error in paperwork means that the trial’s going on a lot longer than expected.”

“So you’re dating.”

“If by dating you mean that we have dinner and breakfast together with sex and sleeping in the middle, sure.”

“Every night.” Kat studies Afsaneh’s face in the monitor and laughs. “You’re extraordinary.”

“No one’s complaining.”

Kat leans back in her chair and grins. “No, I don’t imagine anyone would.” Afsaneh relaxes. “I’ll tell Gabe, though. He’ll tell Pippa.”

“Am I supposed to have a problem with that?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who has to talk to her after this whole thing.”

“The thing that ends when I leave,” says Chris, leaning in behind Afsaneh and kissing her on the cheek. “Captain Cornwell.”

“Commander Pike.”

“Lieutenant Commander, ma’am. I don’t like to jinx things.”

Kat’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ma’am? You know I slept with you too, back in the day?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

"Yes, yes, we all got around during the Academy," says Afsaneh dryly. "Now, we're just old and talking about our sexy glory days."

Kat rolls her eyes. “I guess I’m happy you both are living such a wonderful life.”

“The kids love him,” Afsaneh says, patting Chris on the arm. Chris nods his acknowledgement at Kat then walks out of frame. “He’d be a good dad, if he ever found anything he loved as much as he loves Starfleet. We should help him, you know. He has no excuse to be having so little sex.”

Kat raises her eyebrows. “Doesn’t look so little to me.” She takes Afsaneh in again, then smirks. “Can I be in the room when you tell her? Please?”

“No.”

Kat rolls her eyes again. “Fine. I’ll talk to you both later. He knows that promotion is a given, right? After this mess of a trial?”

Afsaneh shrugs. “He likes sure things.” Kat waves her goodbye, and Afsaneh shuts the screen off.

Chris appears beside her and offers his arm. “Andorian tonight?”

Afsaneh takes it and stands. “Do you think I’m a sure thing?”

“Your friendship? Always,” Chris nods.

He waits for her to lead him out of the room.


End file.
